Partheois
by Nomi001
Summary: Repost of an old story meant as a gift.
1. P1: Prologue

_I am hoping for a 2nd time lucky on the re-post of this fanfic. Hopefully, I get to finish posting it this time without too much distraction._

_Part of the plot of this story, including the grand title, belongs to Liz. As I mention once before, a way to quickly bring down the lofty greek gods is to provide an achilles heel somewhere. For some who find part of this familiars, parts of this I took from 12 Apostles - that crazy original fic of mine. If you can guess the ending, keep it to yourself._

_Written in parts, each between 6-9 chapts:  
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_The first part - Memories of the Past took place in one day - Vanessa's Birthday_

_The second part - A present of guilt is pure Frank POV, except for the prologue_

_The third part deals with the Parthenon of gods. Pending how things go, I can end it here.  
_

_The fourth part rounds up the mysterious 'god' figure in this prologue._

_That's it, the summary of this entire tale._

_To Liz - if you're reading, sorry I took that long._

_Hope you enjoy it._

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**Partheois  
**

For Medieval_Liz

Memories of The Past

PROLOGUE:

In a small boutique café on a quiet corner of Paris, a distinguished old Englishman sat alone drinking coffee and typing on a sleek little Sony Viao notebook. Every once in a while, he would pause and his brows furrowed as he contemplated his next words. Then he smiled. He could see the end of another chapter of his little novelette. This is one novelette that would never be published. Not while he lived. It had to be that way.

"Monsieur, we're about to close," the matronly waitress distracted him from his reminiscing. "Would you like another cup of coffee or another pastry before heading off?"

"Merci," he said, and settled his bill. "I've had enough for today."

He sighed and began packing up his little notebook. He had much regrets in his life. And he had spent years putting things right.

The old man watched the waitress surreptitiously as she went off to settle his account. He knew she wondered about him; the old Englishman who sat alone with his little notebook the entire day. She never asked who he was. Some might believed him just a wealthy writer plying his trade in a quiet romantic corner of Paris. But he knew she knew that he was more than that. She had looked into his eyes and had seen what others had not. She had seen the darkness that scarred his soul. She had felt the sadness in his heart. He knew she knew, because he had caught her looking at him, the sympathy and empathy clear in her expression.

Not for the first time, he had considered furthering his friendship with her. Then he pushed the thought aside. It was too risky. He should be contented with what he had now. It had to be that way.

His fingers gently caressed the keyboard before him. He smiled. The notebook contained what mattered in his life. It was a record of what happened disguised as fiction. It was the confession and the atonement of a man who was once a god. He had only tried to set things right the best he could. And he lived the life he had now, in atonement for his past sins.

He chuckled. His novelette was about what mattered in the life of an ordinary man. It was about love. Love in all its wondrous and different forms. Love that only an ordinary man would ever have the good fortune to appreciate, experience and to savor. It was about the bond between brothers. It was about the love the women and their love and sacrifices for their loves. It was about the love that bound families through thick and thin.

In particular, it was about two brothers who loved each other so much they would do anything for each other. Or did they?

It was not improbable that a god should take a peek through his looking glass to see what his creations were doing. His little research had shown him something. And many, many years ago, in a small little town called Bayport, two brothers made a promise to always stand by each other. But a promise that had not been tested was only a series of words strung together.

So the gods had watched the two little boys as they sat in the wooden tree house which they had just finished building. There they had held hands and made a promise: brothers by birth, best friends by choice, and partners by profession … forever.

It was the duty of the gods to test those bonds, and to see if it could withstand the test of time and trials. Would that bond survive what was to come, and emerged a bond forged by the fires of heaven and hell?

The old man smiled. The die was cast, and soon, the end would be made known to all.

The old man closed his notebook, packed it up, and left. There was much work to be done before he could rest. He whistled a haunting melody as he walked down the narrow cobble paved streets little known to most Parisians. Soon, he vanished into one of the many tiny alleys of Paris. And soon, no one even remembered he was ever even there.


	2. P1: Joe

_First chapter.  
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**Partheois: Part 1**

Memories of the Past

CHAPTER 1:

_Joe_

He was running deeper and deeper into the woods.

His side hurts; he knew he was hit and was losing blood, but he dared not stop. Frank was right about the assassin after him. He plowed into a tree. For a short moment, he leaned heavily against the rough and gnarled trunk. He spared a brief thought for his brother, whom he had not seen since he got shot. It was a stroke of luck that he caught the glimpse of the shadow and moved. Otherwise that first shot would have been fatal. Of that he had no doubt. He hoped Frank had managed to escape and had gone for help. Joe gritted his teeth and made himself move on. He had to hang on till help arrives.

Frank would come back for him, Joe repeated the mantra to himself and he concentrated on placing one foot before the next. He just had to keep moving and hiding. He could do it. He was an expert at hiding and sneaking around. Frank could attest to that. Even his big brother …

Another wave of pain swept through him.

Joe gritted his teeth and willed away the pain. He could do it. And Frank would come back for him. His big brother never failed to come back for him.

But he could not. He lost too much blood. Slowly he sank onto the ground next to the tree.

A shadow loomed over him.

He lifted his head. It cost him, but he did it anyway. If he were to die, he wanted to know who killed him.

Not that he believed in vengeful ghosts and such. But it was just his personality. He hated loose ends and unknowns. That was why he had always wanted to become an investigator, just like his father. His father, Fenton Hardy, was a well-known and respected private investigator.

Yes, he had always wanted to become an investigator, to solve mysteries, and to help people. And he was on the way there, until fate intervened. It screwed up his childhood dreams big time.

So he forced himself to look up. His death would not be a mystery to him.

His heart lifted.

"Frank! You're alright! Did you managed to get help? Am I glad to see… you…"

His already raspy voice tapered off when he realized his big brother was not responding the way he should.

His relief in seeing Frank before him quickly turned to fear, then to resignation when 'Frank' aimed a gun at him. He smiled bitterly. He should have known. He suspected, but had put those suspicions aside because he wanted so much to have his brother back with him… alive.

Frank died almost two years ago. And _he_ had failed to prevent it.

"So you were a plant after all…" He gasped out conversationally.

'Frank' did not respond but merely flicked off the safety catch of his gun.

"You managed to win my trust. That was remarkable work on your part. But tell me, how did you know so much about us?" He asked.

He was curious. That exact image of his brother before him had known things about them that no one should know. Things that were talked about but never recorded in any form, not even in their diaries.

"I know, because I am Frank." The image said in a flat tone.

That shook him. He stared at the image of his brother standing over him, with a gun pointed at his heart.

No! It could not be! He refused to believe that. Frank would never willingly hurt him. Never.

Then he smiled inwardly. They were playing games with him; that must be it. And vicious, that game was. They knew exactly what would hurt him most.

He knew they would send someone after him eventually. He had been too successful in sieving out their operations and shutting them down. Many had thought that he would not be able to make it on his own after Frank was killed. Frank was the smarter and the more methodological one. That was all true, and he had depended a lot on Frank's skills to crack cases and to pull him out of trouble.

Frank could always find the needle in a haystack. But he, he could spot the needle in a field of hay. Then he let Frank proved to the world that _that_ was _the_ needle.

And that was why he could find them, when no one else could.

"Right." His tone was clearly disbelieving.

"You have been unexpectedly successful in tracking down their operations. They sent me to gain your trust, then to kill you, baby bro…"

_Baby bro… no…_ Only Frank called him that.

"They said to make sure you knew… to make sure you hurt… to make sure I knew you hurt…"

_No… he refused to believe that…_

"And then kill you."

_The person before him could not be Frank…_

"If you were Frank, why would you want to kill me? We are brothers, remember?"

"Yes, we are. But you are holding me back. I could have been more, and I stayed in this tiny Bayport town because you wouldn't let me go."

"I never held you back, Frank… You chose to stay in Bayport." He gritted out.

"And then remember the reason for killing you…"

"And what was the reason for killing me?" He had to ask.

"So you can no longer hold me back from my full potential, so I can truly join them and be part of them…"

He could see the fingers tightened on the trigger. He closed his eyes and heard the shot as if it was coming from a distance. No, he heard two shots.

He felt the agony burn through him, and he screamed as the pain hits his conscious mind. He screamed from the pain of his physical wound. He hurts from the agony of the knowledge of who shot him, from all those hurtful words. He screamed as the darkness rises from somewhere deep within to claim him…

…

And he woke up in cold sweat from his nightmare. He could feel the beads of perspiration dotting his brow and rolling down his back. He struggled to bring his gasping breath under control.

He hated that dream.

Except it wasn't a dream. It happened. It happened almost six months ago. Yet every night he dreamed and the whole thing was like it happened yesterday. He could not forget Frank's expression when he fired that shot. He could still feel the fiery pain from his two bullet wounds inflicted by his brother. More hurtful was the memories of all the words Frank used to gain his trust six months ago, only to turn on him and then tried to kill him. He had trusted Frank till the very end, until when he watched his brother lifted the gun onto him. Even then he refused to believe, not until that shot was fired and he felt the bullet tore through his shoulder blades.

Actually, he refused to really believe that the person who shot him was his brother, preferring to hang on to the belief that it was a clone that was sent to kill him.

Then his dad showed him the results of the DNA test and dashed that hope. That betrayal ripped a wound in his heart so deep, he wasn't sure if it could ever heal. He buried his face in his hands and let his tears flow.

A warm wet towel appeared before him as he lifted his head from his hands, tired from his own crying. He turned to see Vanessa watching him, concern reflected from the bluish-grey depths of her eyes. He took the towel gratefully from her hands and wiped his own tears away.

"Thanks, Van," he murmured.

Vanessa nodded, but Joe could see her fears for him which she failed to hide.

"You need to rest, Joe. You cannot continue to drive yourself like that. And Frank needs you…" she started.

Joe turned away from her, not wanting to let her see the guilt in his eyes. It happened because he failed his brother, he acknowledged. He should never have so easily believed that his brother was dead two and a half years ago. But he did and they took Frank away and turned him. And then they sent Frank after him.

"You did everything you could back then, darling," Vanessa reminded him.

"But not enough," Joe answered bitterly.

"Oh Joe, you're only human, as is Frank." Vanessa whispered softly as she enfolds her love in her warm embrace. "You'll have to learn to forgive yourself, as Frank has to learn to forgive himself…"

"Go back to sleep, Van," Joe interrupted curtly.

He did not want to have that talk at the moment. Later perhaps, when the wounds were not so open or so raw…

_Yeah, right, it's been six months_, Joe admitted honestly to himself. _How much longer do you want to hide?_ He sneered at his own cowardice.

But he wasn't exactly doing nothing about the current situation. He was working on the solution. And he had to, for Frank's sake, he had to find the enemy and break them. He had to break them totally, or Frank would never be free, ever.

"Joe…"

That was Vanessa. She sounded hesitant. Joe felt another stab of guilt cutting through him. He had been so obsessed with what happened to Frank, he dragged Vanessa into his obsession.

He turned to face her, let his hands touched her face, traced her features. He stared into her haunted, worried eyes, and accepted his good fortune in finding a woman like her. She stood by him during those two years when he thought Frank was dead. And six months ago…

Joe ruthless shut off that line of thought. He was not ready to face his brother. Instead, he channeled all his focus onto the woman before him. The love of his life, the one person he could not live without.

"Have I ever told you how fortunate I was to have you? I thank God everyday for giving me the most wonderful woman in this world to be my girlfriend," he said to her.

He watched her lips slowly curved into a smile.

"And you, you are the most wonderful, loyal, and caring boyfriend any girl would want. I understand what you need to do, darling, and I want you to know I will wait for as long as it takes."

Joe smiled back at her.

"I won't let you wait too long, I promised."

He gently pushed her back onto the bed and tucked her in.

"It's still early. You should get some more sleep," Joe held his fingers to her lips to silence her when she wanted to protest. "I can't sleep now, no point having two sleepyheads about. I'll need you to take care of me later when I collapse, okay?"

Vanessa shook her head in mocked anger, "why do I ever bother when you don't seem to want to take care of yourself?"

"Because I know you'll always be there to catch me when I fall?" Joe replied with a smile.

Van laughed softly, and then added in a more serious tone. "Joe, you can do everything you can to bring those criminals to justice, but at the end of the day, the only way to heal that hurt in your soul is to make peace with yourself and with Frank…"

"I know that, Van, I know. And I promise you I will…" Joe said. _Eventually_, he added quietly for himself.

Vanessa looked unconvinced. He couldn't blame her when he was still trying to convince himself. Nevertheless, she turned onto her side and tried to go back to sleep. He watched her till her breathing even out before heading into the bathroom to freshen up. Then he headed to his work table and started to go through his notes on his brother's case. And over the next hour he worked and plotted and planned.

At half past six, he readied himself for work. Just before leaving the place he shared with Vanessa, he walked over to the bed where she slept. No, she was awake.

"Happy 26th Birthday, Van," he told her simply.

"You remembered," she whispered back.

"I knew I forgot your last birthday, and I promised I will never forget again, and I didn't." he told her as he leaned forward for a goodbye kiss. "I'll be back at half past five, darling, and we'll have a private dinner here. I'll prepare everything, so all you have to do is to look pretty."

"You're NOT cooking!" Vanessa looked horrified.

Joe laughed and shook his head.

"I wouldn't dream of torturing you on your birthday, Van. But you're not tricking me into telling you what's being planned either," he shot back with a light nibble of her earlobe.

She giggled – it was that same endearing reaction every time. Vanessa mumbled something under her breath which Joe ignored. Instead he kissed her. It was a mistake, sort of. A long while later, Joe rushed out of the apartment and raced for his car. He's going to be late again, and The Gray Man's really going to have his hide this time.

Yeah, he worked for the Network now, as did his dad. They had no choice because of Frank.


	3. P1: Fenton

_Chapter 2._

_Thanks Liz, will rest. Expecting many more sleepless nights and zombie days._

_Lets see if I can get this chapter and the next uploaded before getting that timeout message.  
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**Partheois: Part 1**

Memories of the Past

CHAPTER 2:

_Fenton_

"Good morning Mr. Hardy. Two sets of cloths for dry cleaning?" A matronly woman at the counter asked and Fenton nodded with a wry smile on his face. "This way please."

Why did she even bother with that pretense when he did not even bother to carry any laundry with him? He thought as he made his way to the little enclave behind that rack of dirty laundry.

He reached behind the little lamp protruding from the wall of the enclave and flicked open a panel. A tiny door opened and he slipped in. He was supposed to use the word 'unnoticed', but again he could not be bothered. Anyone following him for several mornings in a row could easily see that he 'disappeared' into Marion's Laundry Service every morning. The tiny door closed, he flipped open the controls panel and placed his palm on the touch-screen. A light on the panel changed from red to green, and the little elevator he was in began his descend into the Network facility below.

Yes, there was a Major Network Installation right here in Bayport. Arthur Gray, the head of the Network, thought it more appropriate to base it here in low-key Bayport than in New York City. At this moment in time, he was grateful that is one such facility in Bayport, otherwise his whole family would have to relocate.

_That is what being a family is all about. You stand by your family no matter what. His sons understand that part all too well – they would do anything for each other. Too bad they are still learning about the second half of that maxim: Being family also means letting your family stand by you, trusting your family to stand by you, and accepting without reservations that your family will always stand by you_. Fenton sighed. _Why did such things happen to his family?_

He was only a civilian PI, albeit a highly successful one. For the first time in his life, he regretted his success. He should have stuck to the usual bread and butter insurance and fraud cases. Then his sons would have grown up normal teens and Frank…

The elevator door opened. He stepped out and walked down a long narrow corridor, his footsteps echoing hollowly behind him. He felt old and tired. Yet he could not rest, because his sons needed him. _Especially Frank,_ he added. He flashed his ID and Network Pass at the two guards, and they did a brief search and a weapons scan before letting him through. Another set of security gates, and finally he was in.

Fenton acknowledged the usual 'good mornings' sent his way with a slight nod of his head. As he did every morning, he headed straight to his allocated office, set down all his things, and proceeds to the changing room. He took a quick peek into Joe's cubicle along the way. His younger son was not here yet. He shook his head, wondering a little amused at what Joe's going to tell Gray as he reason for being late yet again. He recalled Gray's warnings yesterday regarding Joe lack of punctuality. Then he shrugged, his younger son had more than proven his worth to the Network despite Gray's reservations. And he had to admit privately that he had come to enjoy those little sessions when Joe rattled Gray's cool countenance by always doing the unexpected that was just barely within the rules and protocols of the FBI and the Network.

Several minutes later dressed in a T-shirt and pajama pants, he waited impatiently for the guard to complete the paperwork as necessitated by the bureaucratic protocols. The guard finally gave him a nod; he went through the first set of doors and waited rather impatiently for them to lock behind him. He reached for the second and final set of glass panel doors that was keeping him from his firstborn son.

He paused.

Every morning he simply rushed through, eager to see Frank, to hold him and just chat with him. He had to admit that his eldest, while communicating with him, never really talk. As a result, even as Frank was recovering from his ordeal, he never really healed either. _And how could he?_ Fenton suddenly admitted. _Who could heal being locked up in that little cell for months?_

But it was beyond his ability to take Frank out of here at the moment. He had already used everything he had, pulled in every favor he was owed, for his eldest. And as much as he hated to admit that, there really was no safer place for Frank at the moment.

Firstly, it was because those people who had Frank before had tried to get him back. Failing that, they tried to kill him. And Gray, for all his faults, had put his life on the line for Frank several times now. _Then again_, Fenton acknowledged cynically, _Frank **is** valuable to Gray for now…_

Secondly, Frank was dangerous; to himself, and to those around him. That was why security was so tight here. His eldest already made two attempts to escape, during two unexpected personality reversal, almost killing two other agents along the way. In both cases, it was Joe's appearance that brought the base personality back. After that, Fenton watched Frank walking back to his holding cell of his own free will while Joe stood there awkwardly staring down at his toes. That invisible wall between his sons was so palpable he thought he could walk right smack into it if he tried.

This morning, he did not rush into Frank's cell. Instead, he paused at the door.

Perhaps it was because he finally stopped berating himself and acknowledged and accepted the fact that both his sons were not ordinary. Even if he had stuck to boring fraud and insurance cases, his sons would have made it on their own. Now, as he stood behind the last glass door separating him from his eldest, he finally accepted what Gray had been telling him for months.

_Frank is dangerous…_

Even he had no idea how dangerous and how resourceful his eldest could be, until Gray sat him down and made him watch the recordings of Frank's escape attempt. The total change in personality had shocked him. But it was the look of total devastation on Frank's face when the base personality re-asserted itself that moved Fenton to act. He finally agreed to let Gray moved Frank to this current high-security location and cell. It was the right decision too, for he could see that Frank was more relaxed in his new cell, even if it was very sparsely furnished. There was only a foam mattress and a number of paperback books. That was why he was visiting his son dressed in a flimsy T-shirt and pajama pants. So that there was absolutely nothing that Frank could use to effect another escape. And his son had proven he could use literally almost anything.

So this morning, he stood behind the glass door for a moment to observe his son and to think. He knew Frank would not be able to see anyone behind the door because the visual was one way only.

Yes, to think; to reflect on how well he actually knew his own sons, which was clearly not as well as he thought.

Two and a half years ago, when he thought Frank was killed in a terrorist holdup, he grieved. When they found out that a newly surfaced terrorist group, The Partheois, was behind that holdup, Joe had quitted Hardy Investigations, joined the FBI and gone after them with a vengeance. Joe was too successful – and Fenton saw for the first time how far Joe could go when he bothered to push himself. Then almost seven months ago, his eldest surfaced before Joe when he and Laura were away on a month long cruise. It was deliberate, and he got to the scene of action a month later and barely on time to save his youngest. He would never forget that moment in time, when he watched his eldest pulled the trigger on his youngest. He shot, and prayed from the depths of his soul that he wasn't too late to save Joe. He prayed from the depths of his soul that his aim on Frank's arm was true, that he did not kill his elder in his attempt to save the younger.

Both his sons lived, for that he gave thanks to his Lord daily. Something he had stopped doing since high school.

That was also about when he found out that the original holdup was an elaborate plot to get Frank. And the Network got the confirmation that The Partheois was an older, bigger, and much, much deeply rooted and secretive organization than expected. They chose Frank for their next generation of leaders.

Fenton shook his head. He had always known his eldest was exceptional; outstanding academically and an all rounder in sports. After completing his college degrees in Law and Mathematics, Frank had taken on several high-profile white collar cases and performed brilliantly. He could see why they would want Frank.

The FBI psychologist had explained to him what was done to his son. Frank was a good person at heart, so in order to shape him into what they needed; they created a second personality alongside the base personality. But the base personality was strong, so they planned for Frank to commit the one act that could forever bury the base personality and allow the second personality to come to the fore – by having him kill the one person that matter most to him.

Fenton still shuddered at how close they came to succeeding. If he missed, and Frank's shot found the target, he knew he would have lost both sons that day. There was no way his Frank would come back if he had to live with the knowledge that he killed his own brother.

Then there were the triggers; so many triggers! What would it be like to be Frank now? To live in fear of not knowing what would set him off? Fenton could see that Frank had lost a lot of weight. He was told that Frank only ate what was necessary for surviving and refused to exercise. Frank was afraid, the psychologist told him. His son wanted to make sure he was the weaker opponent should anything trigger the other personality.

And the existence of those triggers was the reason why Joe was still pushing himself to bring down The Partheois. He wanted to find that laboratory where Frank was held, find the medical notes, and then destroy them all. It was the only way his younger son felt Frank would be free again. The father knew his younger son was deluding himself. But he let his younger son be for the moment, knowing that Joe needed to burn off those excessive emotions.

What the FBI psychologists were working out now was, how that personality split was done, and if it could be fully reversed. They were being nice about it of course. They told him that the fact that Frank's base personality revert when he saw Joe was an encouraging sign. But Fenton was not a man to wallow in delusions. What was done to Frank could never be fully reversed. The best he could hope for was for Frank to gain enough control of himself so as to live the rest of his life with some semblance of normalcy.

He observed Frank sleeping on his thin foam mattress through the glass door and felt a deep sadness flowed through him. Frank deserved so much more than 'normalcy', and he knew with brutal honesty that was no longer possible.

He felt anger rose to the fore. Too bad for them that was **_his_** son they went after. They would pay for that, he vowed. Actually, they were already paying for it; their 'secret' organization was no longer 'secret'. The Network and thus the FBI knew about them now. But he would spend the rest of his life working to bring every block of that organization down.

But now, now he must be the father to his son. The son was still lost in guilt and trapped in fear. So the father must be there to nudge him when he faltered, to catch him when he fell, and to carry him when he was exhausted. He opened the door and stepped through.

The door locked behind him with a loud click.

Frank turned around, noted his presence and quickly looked away. But not before he caught that glimpse of disappointment and hurt that flashed briefly in his son's eyes. Fenton knew it was because his eldest had hoped that it was Joe visiting. That was swiftly followed by a flash of guilt. Just as quickly, all those feelings were gone, leaving behind a calm and controlled exterior.

"Good morning, dad," his son greeted.

Fenton simply leaned back against the wall, crossed his arm and eyed his eldest. His unexpected action caught Frank's attention. Fenton smiled. Things would be turning for the better from now on - he could almost taste the change in the air.

He usually started his visit with a greeting and asking if his son was well. And most mornings ended up a series of polite exchanges. That had to stop, Fenton realized. He should have had more respect for his son's resilience and character; he should never have wasted all those time walking on eggs around Frank.

"Joe is confident he found the location of those labs," Fenton told Frank in a casual tone. "He's preparing for a sting operation now. We want those medical records intact."

He saw a flash of fear in Frank's eyes, which was what he expected. He cut in using his firmest tone before Frank could say anything.

"Joe will be very careful, so don't worry about him."

Frank looked unconvinced. Fenton chuckled. Some things about Frank would always remain the same, such as the need to keep Joe safe.

"But what I want now is to talk about you," he said.

"I am fine, dad. But what Joe is doing is dangerous…"

"You would have done the same for him, Frank, and you know it!" Fenton admonished his elder son gently. "Joe have matured much during the last two and the half years, son. Have faith in his capabilities."

"But he did not have to take that risk!" Frank turned on him. "If you have let me do what had to be done back then, then Joe would not have to take that kind of a risk now! "

"And what was it that you had to do back then, son?" Fenton asked in a reasonable tone.

He knew Frank needed to vent. If he was to be his son's verbal punching bag, so be it. Inwardly, his heart rejoiced. Frank was finally breaking out of his impersonal, emotionless façade.

"You should have let Gray sent me back in!" Frank spat out.

"So if the situation is reversed, you would let Gray re-program Joe, even when you know that the Network had no idea what was done to him in the two preceding years, and sent Joe straight back into the wolf's den?" Fenton asked conversationally.

"No!"

"Good! Because, I would not have allowed that either!" Fenton concurred agreeably.

Frank glared back at him, and he made himself ignore that.

"I would have done exactly the same thing for Joe as I did for you. I would have called in every favor owed to me, used every contact I have, just to keep him safe. **_You_** know that, son."

And that was what he did. It wasn't enough. Not until he and Joe agreed to work for the Network did Gray bend and argue on their behalf. They made a deal. But Frank did not have to know that.

"Then I and my son would have done everything within our power, took any risk necessary, to see my son and his brother home safe and sound."

Frank remained silent, and Fenton took that as a good sign. He continued in a softer, gentler tone, knowing that his son was now finally listening.

"I am your father, Frank. And Joe is your brother. It is one thing to do everything within one's power to keep his family safe. But the reverse also applies. You must let us be your family, son. You must let us do our part. Because at the end of the day, that is the only way a family stays together – by being a real family."

His voice softened as he added, "And you must know that we love you. You do not have to go through all these alone…"

He watched as Frank's shoulders started to shake. He crossed the cell in several quick steps and soon had his son in his arms.

"Sorry dad…"

"Oh Frank, son, how I missed you... how we all missed you…"


End file.
